On Grace (27 page)

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the conversations we’ve had over the past few weeks, and I just want you to know how eye-opening they’ve been for me.”

“In what way?” Cameron asks, licking the sorbet off her spoon and diving in for more.

“Well, remember that time we were talking about how your diagnosis opened our eyes to thinking about how we prioritize our lives and what we fill our days with? Whether we should live our lives differently?” I ask.

“I do,” she says.

“You reminded me of how I used to be so happy-go-lucky and carefree. And I know having kids changed that landscape and I had to act more responsibly and all, but your saying that really resonated with me,” I say, dipping my spoon into my sorbet.

“How?” Cameron asks, taking a sip of her tea.

I sit back in my chair and look out the window. “I need to reclaim some of my old self. I need to lighten up a bit and stop focusing on expenditure of time always being for the sake of impressive accomplishment. Sometimes I should just spend my time doing something I want to do and not feel guilty if it doesn’t result in something.”

“Do you think you’re gonna change?” she asks me, tilting her head quizzically.

“I’m certainly gonna try.”

“That’s great, Grace.”

“It’s just that between what my family has been telling me and what you’ve been trying to tell me for the past few weeks—”

“And past twenty years,” Cameron interrupts.

“Yes, that, too. And between what is happening with you and what is happening with my marriage, it’s all just really banged me over the head and made me think about how I just need to enjoy my life.”

“Hallelujah!” Cameron says, lifting her spoon in the air.

“I’m serious,” I say, smiling.

“I’m serious, too,” she says.

“I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to figure this out, but we’re all going to get sick, have marital problems, or have some other shitty thing happen in our lives. So during the gaps when that crappy stuff isn’t happening, we need to take advantage of the peace and quiet to do what we love, to be vibrant with the people we love, to celebrate the good things in life, to not rush all the time, to know that we’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing, to stop . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . to stop worrying about not doing things the right way and just do them, goddamn it, the way that feels good!” I say, my voice rising at the end and inviting looks from fellow egg chair diners.

“Oh, Grace! We’ve broken through!” Cameron cheers. “We’ve broken through!”

“I think, possibly, we have.”

“The most important thing for you to remember is that you can’t sit around waiting all day for your kids, or some boss, or your husband, or anyone to tell you you’re great. You have to know it, Grace. You have to know you’re great. Because you are.”

After lunch, Cameron walks uptown to tie up loose ends at her office for a few hours, and I head south to Grand Central. During my walk and on the train home, I think about all that has taken place since the first day of school five weeks ago, and it seems utterly ridiculous, more like a soap opera script than my life: husband cheats on wife, wife gets rejection from two jobs, wife’s best friend has miscarriage, wife reconnects with old flame, wife tells husband, husband storms out, wife’s best friend gets breast cancer. All we’re missing is amnesia, a secret love child, and murder. Unfortunately, it
is
my life.

But, looking on the bright side, I also know that the past five weeks have been filled with enough obstacles to effectively change my perspective on life. And that’s a really valuable thing.

I’ve given up trying to figure out what’s going through Darren’s head and what I should do next. Everything I’ve ever thought I’ve known about him I’m not so sure of anymore. I never suspected he would react like he did. I go over it all the time, questioning if he’s right and I’m wrong. I keep convincing myself that the right thing to do is give him space and time, and then just see what happens.

“Hey, Grace! I feel like I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” Lorna practically shouts at me with one of her dramatic head tilts as I make my way to the bus stop that afternoon. She’s wearing a ridiculous sailor getup, and it’s all I can do to not look at her and laugh.

“A couple weeks ago the boys asked if they could just go from the bus into the house without my waiting for them, so I’m letting them do that. I think it gives them a sense of independence. Plus, I watch from the window, so I know they’re okay,” I say, turning my head down the street to look for the bus. I tried to time it today so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lorna, but, damn, the bus is late.

“Oh,” she says, as if I just told her I’m letting them prostitute themselves downtown at midnight. “I would never let the triplets walk home alone. Even though we are only six houses away. There are just too many reports of abductions these days. You know?” Lorna asks, wiping grass clippings off her navy espadrilles.

“I heard that a child is more likely to get struck by lightning than to be abducted, but you have to do what you’re comfortable with,” I say sweetly.

“Well, you can never be too careful, now, can you? Especially when it comes to our most precious commodities. So,” she clucks, “I’ve been meaning to ask how your new job is going.”

“Unfortunately, some things didn’t work out as I had planned,” I say, craning my neck, “But that’s okay. Everything happens for a reason.”

“Maybe that reason, Grace, is because you’re supposed to be the third-grade class chair for the winter book fair. We still haven’t filled the spot, and it’s yours if you want it,” she says, blinking heavily and smiling broadly.

“So sorry, Lorna, but I’ve got a lot of other things going on right now, and I just don’t think it’s good timing.”

“Oh? Other things?” Lorna asks with a bit too much interest. The gossip-gathering muscle in her jaw pulsing wildly.

Just then the bus pulls up, and I am saved from having to make up something just to get the damn woman to back off.

“Mommy, why are you waiting here for us?” James asks with disappointment in his voice. “Remember, we’re big boys and we can go inside by ourselves now?”

“Yes, I do remember, but once in a while I like to come out here and greet you guys in person.”

“Okay,” James says and hands me his backpack. Henry does the same.

“What are we doing this afternoon?” Henry asks.

“Hmmm. No plans. Did you have anything in mind?” I ask.

“Ice cream?” Henry smiles, showing all his teeth.

“Ice cream?” James chimes in.

“I think ice cream is a great idea,” I say. “And then, what do you say we go over to Hooper’s Farm and pick us some pumpkins?”

“Can we carve them when we get home?” Henry asks.

“Of course!” I say, excited about the afternoon. Since Darren’s disappearance—what I’ve taken to calling it—I have slacked off a bit in the dinner category. The boys are happier with the less elaborate meals, and I’m happier not having to put in all the time and energy making dinner.

“Jack L. got pumpkins yesterday, he told me. He said he tried to get his babysitter to take him all last week, but she said that his mom wanted to take him on the weekend when she didn’t have work,” Henry tells me as we open the door to dump the backpacks.

“I’m so glad you don’t work,” James says.

“Yeah, James? Why?” I ask him, kneeling down in front of him and placing my hands on his shoulders.

“So we can get pumpkins on Mondays,” he says sweetly.

I’ve been trying to be less intense about my should-I-or-should-I-not-work mental dilemma. And I’ve been trying to slow down, see the beauty in the everyday, and appreciate the mundane. Recently, I’ve lain in bed thinking about what if it had been me who got the cancer diagnosis. What if I were too sick to make their breakfast, to welcome them off the bus with treats at the end of the day, to drive them to soccer practice? All the things that I’ve often complained about having to do because they’re so tedious, so thankless, so time-consuming. Because they rob me of the time I want to spend on Something Else
.
These are suddenly the things I have to see the gold in. I have to shift my thinking from “have to’s” to “get to’s.” Unfortunately, sometimes a cancer diagnosis is required to make that clear.

Seeing the gold in, say, making school lunches isn’t always easy. Philosophically acknowledging the mundane as a gift doesn’t always make cutting off crusts fun. But I’m trying to build that muscle. At least I’m mindful of it. And that’s far beyond where I was a few weeks ago.

I still think about getting a job, though I’m glad I don’t have one right now, so I can be with Cameron. But, when she’s doing better and back at work, that urge to escape the totality of being a mom, to find something fulfilling to do with my days, will return. But, I’m now certain that I want a job that gives me flexibility so I can tend to my best friend after a cancer diagnosis and so I can buy pumpkins on Mondays.

When I walk into the waiting room at Sloan-Kettering Wednesday morning, Jack is already there.

“Hey,” I say, giving him a hug and setting down the large coffees I got for us. “How did all the check-in and pre-op stuff go this morning?”

“As well as can be expected,” he says. “She seemed a little preoccupied and distracted, but I think she was just psyching herself out mentally, trying to prepare for the battle, as she kept referring to it,” he says with a nervous laugh.

“How are you holding up?” I ask, looking around the nondescript, standard-order hospital waiting room. According to Cameron, Jack has been a mess. He hasn’t taken this news well at all, not that I blame him. And she says that although he’s been trying to put on a brave face in front of her, she can see right through it and sometimes hears him crying when he thinks she’s asleep.

“I’m okay, I guess,” he says, his hands in his pocket, his shoulders shrugged. And then he breaks. “I’m just so scared, Grace. I don’t know what I would do if I lost her.”

“Hey, hey. She’s gonna be fine. Come here,” I say and give him a long hug.

“Hey.” We pull away and see Darren in the doorway. He goes up to Jack and gives him a hug. “Sorry, man. I know this must be so rough.”

“Thanks, Darren,” Jack says as he sits down and takes a sip of the coffee.

“You okay?” Darren asks me.

I look at him and shake my head no. I can’t speak. I’m suddenly overcome with emotion: relief that Darren is speaking to me and looking at me so tenderly, and fear about what’s about to happen with Cameron. I try to hold back the tears, but they are too strong for me this time. He looks at me and smiles hesitantly, but I can’t tell what his eyes are trying to tell me. And then he hugs me. For a very long time. My heart is racing, and the tears are unremitting. And he keeps hugging me. Tightly.

When he releases me, he whispers, “It’s gonna be okay.”

I can’t help but wonder what he means by “it.”

It’s just the three of us in the waiting room. A slow day for cancer, apparently. Cameron’s parents are driving down from Maine, and they’re scheduled to arrive this evening. They’ll stick around for a few days to help Cameron once she gets home from the hospital. I try to talk to Jack, but he just answers my questions with yes or no answers, and then looks back down at his iPad. So I take the hint and realize he doesn’t feel up to talking. Darren sits in the corner of the room speaking quietly on a conference call. I’ve brought things to read, but I can’t focus. The television in the room is set to MSNBC. We can’t find a remote to change the channel, and it’s mounted too high to reach the controls. I could go in search of someone for help, but instead I just close my eyes and think.

The surgeon promised to come in here after the surgery to update us on how it went. She told Jack this morning that she’ll need two hours and that the plastic surgeon will need two more to insert the tissue expanders, the first step in reconstruction. I figure there are three possible outcomes to this surgery. The optimistic and in-denial part of me hopes the doctor will come in and say, “You’ll never believe it! It was just a big misunderstanding. We found nothing. It must have been dust on the ultrasound machine and a mix-up in the lab. She’s fine!” The pessimistic, doomsday side of me considers the doctor might come in and say, “It’s worse than we thought. The poor girl’s body is riddled with tumors. There’s nothing more we can do.” When the surgeon finally comes in the waiting room, she says something in the middle.

“The surgery went really well, and she did great. There appeared to be some signs of spread to the sentinel lymph node, so I removed more of the axillary nodes to make sure I got it all out. All in all, I’m really pleased.”

“Great,” Jack says, relieved.

“The plastic surgeon is in with her now. He’ll come in here in a couple hours, and then you’ll be able to see her when she’s in recovery.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jack says, shaking her hand firmly. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she says with a smile and turns to leave.

Jack and I look at each other and smile. I ask him if he wants anything from the cafeteria, and he says no. I tell him I’m going to get a coffee or something, and Darren, who had gotten off his call just before the doctor came in, offers to join me.

As we walk down the hall toward the elevator, I feel like I’m walking next to a stranger. I don’t know what to say. So I decide not to say anything at all and let him start.

“Do you feel a little better now?” he asks, as we stop at the elevator bank, and he pushes the down button.

“Yes, a lot,” I say, tears stinging my eyes as I stare at the closed elevator doors.

An elevator opens, and we get in. It’s crowded, so we don’t talk. When we get off, we walk side by side silently until we get in line at the cafeteria.

“I don’t want to lose you, Gracie,” Darren says softly as we slide our trays slowly along the metal counter.

I look at him. I’m a bit stunned. I didn’t expect this from him.

He stops and turns to me. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about so many things. About us. About what each of us did. About Cameron. About what’s actually important. I’ve tried to analyze this situation from every angle. And the more I think about it and the more time that passes from the night you told me, the more I realize that, yes, I did overreact. I certainly don’t like that you were, as you said, flirting with another man, but I understand how it could have happened. I see how what I did to you could have led you to do what you did. And you didn’t let anything physical happen beyond that start of a kiss, and that’s more than I can say for myself. I was an asshole, Gracie, on so many levels. And I’m sorry.”